To The Stars
by MustBeDreaming13
Summary: "...and you can't seem to stop the images from flooding back into your memory. They are gushing forth, bombarding you with guilt and longing, and you can feel them stabbing mercilessly at your already damaged hearts." The Doctor reflects on his previous companions. WARNING: can cause emotional distress.


**Hi there! Basically, this is just a little reflection on the Doctor's previous companions. And how he can be selfish at times. But also how much love he can have for the very different friends that have come into his life. Obviously, I didn't have time to do all of his companions (aka Rory, Jack, Sarah Jane Smith, etc.) I just decided to do the main ones, so sue me. You can probably tell who my favorites are, but I tried to be unbiased on all of them (which I believe I failed to do one the last one, but oh well, I couldn't resist.) I hope you enjoy it! Please R&R! Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who. If I did, I wouldn't be like Moffat and kill off the new companion twice in her first two appearances. I'm not a monster. :p P.S. I suggest you listen to "Rivers and Roads" by The Head and The Heart while reading this. And if not while reading it, at least some time in your life. It's an insanely good song and I think it goes with this story, anyway. **

You rest your hand on the console, your fingers just inches away from the lever that transports you through time and space. To wondrous yet dangerous places, and while these places are invigorating, you know they are just mere distractions from those you have lost. Running…running is all you have ever known, but right now you are surprised to find yourself too worn, too tired to even pull down that lever. You haven't felt this old in quite some time; you also haven't felt this broken since the last one you let slip through your fingers. Usually when you reflect on your previous companions they come back in intervals, the flashbacks of them blurred and torn at the edges. But now, here you are, so alone and vulnerable, and you can't seem to stop the images from flooding back into your memory. They are gushing forth, bombarding you with guilt and longing, and you can feel them stabbing mercilessly at your already damaged hearts.

You grimace in pain as the first image comes into view: a glimpse of blond hair dancing in the wind. Then pearly white teeth, shining, the same ones that dazzled you the first time you laid eyes on them. Crinkles forming under chocolate brown eyes, happiness etched so finely on the cheeks of youth. Joyful laughter meets your ears and it reminds you of the innocence and purity she once held. You can picture her as a child, chasing dandelion seeds in the wind as she basked in the little wonders of the universe.

You had beheld this once when you were feeling melancholy, deciding a tiny trip to her past would not hurt. You smile as you remember it all: her white dress twirling in the morning air and her bare toes squishing the earth beneath. The way her laughter sounded exactly the same as it did when she was an adult, so full of life and awe.

Now you recall the way she looked when you last saw her as an adult: lines had replaced the crinkles under her eyes and emptiness shone in her once twinkling irises. You now realize that is the main reason why you left her in the parallel universe—to protect her from losing any more of the innocence and joy she struggled to hold onto. So that she may start a life without him and love a man who had the ability to stay with her until the end of both of their lives.

But as much as you repeat this to yourself (_which usually happens after finding your pillow streaked with tears and your voice strained from fits of sobs_), you could still taste her strawberry lip gloss on your lips even though you had only kissed her twice, both while she was unaware. You recall the sensation of her warm hand in yours tingling up your arm and down your spine, but then you feel a pang of guilt as another blonde flashes through your mind. One who you genuinely love and are bound to forever, for better or for worse.

A mass of golden locks takes over the picture and the smell of her jasmine perfume overwhelms your senses. Her mischievous smirk eternally stamped upon her face and on your heart. You chuckle at the thought of how she teases you, making quip yet provocative remarks toward you on a regular basis. You admire how she wears her smartness like a crown, her elegance flowing effortlessly off her shoulders. You do not admire how you placed a mask upon her face, though, and how she disguises sunken eyelids with playful winks.

You begin to wonder how your lives became so intricately woven together, from beginning to end. How majority of the time she has experienced so much more with you than you have with her and you are baffled to no end. But then, on rare occasions, you know her significantly better, sometimes even better than she knows herself; and for an instant, you feel like you have the upper hand. And you relish it, not just because of your false sense of pride, but also because this is the beginning of her life with you. Not the end of it, which is what you fear every single time you encounter her.

You clutch your chest as you dwell on the first time you met her yet the last time she saw you. You will always dwell on it and you dread the day that moment comes for both you and her. You hate the thought of your hair being cut and you being dressed trim; you despise the idea of her gasping delightedly as she gazes down from the Singing Towers, harmonious voices putting you both in a trance. At least, you desperately hope they put _you_ in trance. Or a delirium. A beautiful delirium that nothing bad will happen to her and you will see her angelic face again after that night.

You are continuously frantic when you are around her because that is the one moment you will always know before she does. And, every miniscule second of your life, it's the moment you regret knowing. Because it kills you and eats at you constantly, right down to your core. These are the times you try to assure yourself that time _**can**_ be rewritten. And these are also the times you mutter bitterly there are also fixed points in time (_this often occurs when you discover yourself on the floor in the middle of the night, clutching only a sheet to your shivering body._) You thank the heavens that she is a hopelessly deep sleeper and only travels with you occasionally so that she doesn't inquire you of your odd yet reoccurring predicament. You also thank the heavens for such an understanding life partner, one who knows the trials that you have faced in your long and seemingly endless life. And yet, you will lose her, just like all the others.

At least, you think as you shut your eyes tightly, one of them left you willingly. Hair as dark as a raven's feather and a determination as driven as a thunderstorm, that was the one. At least one of them decided they were better off without you; that the life you lived was just too dangerous for any one person. At least they realized this before it was too late. And yet, this is the one companion you seem to regret losing the most. Which seems twisted, you know, but you feel as if you did not try hard enough with her. You did not give your all for her like you should have. She loved you so much more than you could ever have the capability of feeling toward her.

You used to claim that it wasn't your fault and it definitely wasn't hers. She just wasn't _her_, the one you had travelled with in two regenerations. Because you had just experienced so much with that other person and you felt as if no one could ever amount to her potential, the only thing you had ever believed in. But you were quickly proven wrong and even now you kick yourself for being so stupid. Just because she wasn't what you wanted her to be didn't mean she wasn't worth it. Because she was, and so much more, and you wish so desperately now you had believed in **her** sooner.

You begin to understand now that every time you saved her, you were trying to compensate for your lack of devotion. And you hate yourself for being so selfish, the whole relationship being entirely one-sided. And the exact second after she left, you recognized that all of it was your fault. You had even contemplated chasing after her, begging her for forgiveness; that you would be better this time, you would care for her like you did in her dreams and even beyond that. But you didn't because you are a daft, old Time Lord who never asks for forgiveness or apologizes. Instead, you remind yourself of all the mistakes you made with her and all the beautiful things the two of you could have been (_this frequently transpires in the early hours of the morning as you stare at a blank ceiling and whisper sweet confessions into thin air_.) But now she has a normal life with a loving husband and that's all you ever wished for her: the utter best. Even if it does mean a happiness you cannot share. And while you have been late many times, she was the first and only one you were too late in loving.

Your mind starts to reel, reel all the way back to the one you loved instantly. The one who did not need to gain your affection by any means, and yet, you did not see her through rose colored lenses. You saw her as she was and accepted her completely; and in return, she accepted you completely albeit her slapping and rude name calling. All that red hair just made her feisty and sometimes she baffled you to no end. You honestly could not figure her out, and maybe it was better that way. Because she told you like it was, no candy coating, nothing but straight to the point, if not, blunt. But it was simple that way and you trusted her because of that.

When you first met her, you assumed her to be ditzy and rough around the edges, and _nothing_ but normal. There seemed to be nothing significant about her considering she was only a temp and, quite frankly, came across a bit overbearing. But oh, how she quickly proved you wrong. She bothered you somewhat at first, but there was something there from the beginning between you two. You were intrigued by her, nonetheless, and she challenged your sanity on a daily basis. But that was a good thing, you had finally concluded. A challenge was always a good thing to you from then on out. Because challenges, you had learned, bring you some wonderful surprises in return.

And tragic ones as well, you think and you cringe at the memory of it all. Losing a lover, an admirer, those were horrible in their own ways. But losing a friend was a whole different kind of pain; it was like losing the part of you, you never knew was there until it was gone. You did not cry or mourn nor did it eat at you, constantly reminding you of what you did _not_ do. You could not cry because there was something missing from you; all you felt was emptiness and it seemed that if you cried it would make the hollow walls within you crash and destroy the last bit of sanity you had left. And God knows there was a very slim regimen of that remaining. And you were not haunted by regrets because you had none with her; all she had given you had been joy, laughter, and honesty, and you had given the same in return. And that is all you could ask from a true friendship.

The only thing that gnawed at your conscience with this particular companion was how you always let your companions down in the end. You always hurt them in some way. In this case, you had hurt her without her knowledge, and selfishly, you were thankful for that. But you had stolen so many precious memories from her, adventures she had experienced and lives she had touched, and she would never remember any of it. None at all. She had saved the whole universe and she would never know; she would never see herself as more than a silly temp who was nothing but ordinary. Nothing special, whatsoever, which is what you had initially thought of her (_you are usually reminded of this in the wee hours of the morning as you bang your head against your headboard for being so incredibly stupid_) and yet she turned out to be the most important woman to not only you, but also the universe (_and this tantrum ultimately ends with you burying your head into your pillow, vainly trying to forget the one person who will never remember you_.)

And, suddenly, the red hair is spinning, twirling, out of control. But you know this is not the previous redhead you had been reflecting on. No, for this redhead was mad, impossible. She was magnificent and absolutely glorious. You slowly close your eyelids, relishing the ghost of her touch. The way she tightened her arms around you because she was so afraid you would break into a million pieces without her comfort. The way her eyes lingered on your face when she knew you weren't telling her the complete truth. You lied to her constantly, and you thought you had mastered the art of it; but she just knew, she _**always**_ knew. The way her lips felt so perfectly molded to yours, that sweet kiss you shared in her childhood bedroom. But it was the smallest touches of hers that stood out most in your mind; the way she straightened your bowtie as you swallowed the lump in your throat, embarrassed like a schoolboy who had a pathetic crush. Or the way she brushed her hand against the back of yours, sending chills through your body and all the way to your core. And you knew she did all these things purposefully too, just to get a rise out of you. And it worked. 'Cause she just always got what she wanted, didn't she?

She was completely your best friend. But she was also your almost lover. In the end, you knew you were soul mates. It might sound cheesy and unrealistic, but it was the truth. You felt her presence even when you were galaxies away from her home in Leadworth. You knew when something was terribly wrong with her and you would tear the universe apart to fix her again, even though _you_ were the first one to break her. She was always with you and she always would be, when the day was all said and done. There was no denying that, no matter how desperately you wanted to.

But you had both made your choices: she had chosen the loyal centurion who had loved her since they were children and you had chosen the beautiful psychopath/archaeologist, her daughter. And you hate to think about it, but sometimes you believe you might have married your wife because she had so much of _**her**_ spirit. You had selfishly hoped you would have the same connection with her, that somehow she would ignite the same spark within you. The same one you had with your brilliant ginger. But it never happened, and you are secretly grateful for that. Because it proved that in all of time and space, there was only one other being made for you, across the whole of the universe. And you would love her eternally.

She was unlike the others. You only felt passion and longing for your first love. Then you only felt pure devotion towards your wife. And you felt utterly protective of the one you let down the most. And, lastly, you felt only true happiness and ease with your very best friend. One might wonder how she was unlike the others; you will smile sadly at this question, and not answer in words. Just to yourself, while you are sitting alone in the console room. She was unlike all the others because you felt all of these with her. You felt all of these emotions and more towards her. And, you had thought once, she had felt the same towards you.

But then she vanished, chasing after the one she truly belonged with. It happened so quickly you couldn't even capture a breath to utter the same word she had blurted out in between sobs to you. But then again, you're not so sure you really wanted to. You were feeling so much in that moment that you almost physically ripped your hearts out of your chest. It was an odd feeling because you had never experienced it before, in all your one thousand years of life. You hated that word: _**good-bye**_ (_and yet you continue to find yourself waking up with a start, shouting this word repeatedly._) You let out a choked sob, wishing for her arms around you once more (_which is exactly what you wish for right before you stumble to the kitchen, searching for some solace in a bowl of fish fingers and custard_.)

You deem this a brilliant idea as you start for the kitchen, but instead you are haulted by a short brunette standing directly in front of you. She searches your face with deep concern as you wipe at your eyes hastily, trying to rid yourself of any sorrow.

"Doctor, are you alright?"

"Alright? Of course, I'm alright! I'm the King of Alright! Ooh, wait, no, don't call me that…" you mutter as you recall a similar memory.

She doesn't believe you, you can tell, but she blows it off anyway with a flip of her hair and a bright smile . Because somehow she knows this is what you need: the refreshment of innocence and youth, which is what they all held at the very beginning.

"So, where are we off to next, chin boy?"

You grin, knowing full well you will break and bend this one just like the rest. You jump up next to the console, flashing your best smile, aware that you will always pretend to be gleeful when you feel quite the opposite. You clumsily jab at various buttons, savoring her laughter at your silliness, because that is what they all did in the beginning. They were always amused by you; but most of all, they were amazed by the daft man in the blue box who could visit other worlds and different times. You yank the lever down, gazing into her dazzled irises, vainly wishing that that light would stay there for all of time and space. Just for you. Because you do not know if you can live with yourself if you lose one more of them.

"To the stars."


End file.
